"I don't know what to think. But I have a sort of idea the brutes knew something last night and wouldn't tell."
"They'll have to tell!" exclaimed Stephen.
Nevill did not answer.
"I shall go down at once," Stephen went on.
"Of course I'll go with you," said his friend.
They had forgotten about breakfast. Stopping only to get their hats, they started for the town.
XIV
"Don't begin by accusing the landlord of anything," Nevill advised, at the hotel door. "He's got too much Arab blood in him to stand that. You'd only make him tell you lies. We must seem to know things, and ask questions as if we expected him to confirm our knowledge. That may confuse him if he wants to lie. He won't be sure what ground to take."
The Arab porter was not in his place, but the proprietor sat in his den behind the window. He was drinking a cup of thick, syrupy coffee, and soaking a rusk in it. Stephen thought this a disgusting sight, and could hardly bear to let his eyes rest on the thick rolls of fat that bulged over the man's low collar, all the way round his neck like a yellow ruff. Not trusting himself to speak just then, Stephen let Caird begin the conversation.